The Hunter
by lovesdaryl
Summary: He has been Hunting the beast for years and is finally close to catching up to it. The moon will be full soon. Will Daryl manage to take the wolf down before it feeds again? - Written for the NL Halloween Challenge 2015.
1. Chapter 1

_It caught him from behind just as he was preparing to get moving again, while he was putting on his leather jacket, pulling it up over his left arm, his helmet still lying at his feet. The heavy body slammed into his back, the claws digging into his right shoulder and arm, ripping and tearing through fabric and skin and flesh. Blood started streaming down his back and his arm, soaking the ground, soaking his clothes. At first, he didn't even feel the pain, his body going into emergency mode, operating on pure survival instinct._

 _He managed to push himself up off the ground, turn, and get on top of the beast. With its slavering jaws now snapping at his face, he pushed it down into the wet leaves, then managed to lean on it and pin it down with his good arm while his bloodstained right hand reached for the knife at his hip. The blood from his shoulder and arm kept dripping down on the Changed wolf as he brought the knife up and sank it into the sinewy neck, still holding the animal down as it continued to fight his hold on it until, at last, the light left its amber eyes._

 _The Hunter exhaled, closing his eyes and allowing his head to sink down onto the dead wolf's chest. With one of its paws resting on his torn shoulder, they seemed to be embracing, and in a way, there_ had _been some degree of intimacy to their interactions. Trying to kill another living being would do that, and he had been tracking it for days._

 _Slowly, he pushed himself up onto his knees, feeling as if the sky itself was weighing him down. It was light enough by now for him to inspect his wounds without lighting a torch, and what he saw was disheartening. The damage to his shoulder was extensive, with his movements limited already – maybe some of it would be permanent. Moving as slowly as if he were drifting through molasses, he dug his first aid roll from his backpack and rooted through it. Taking off his torn shirt, he slapped several dressings onto his arm and shoulder, fixing them in place with half a dozen rolls of bandages as he made a mental note to get new ones at the next village – and maybe find a medic or herbalist there who could have a look at him._

 _Once he had taken care of his injuries, he put on his other shirt, followed now by his jacket, helmet, and fingerless gloves. Standing tall over the beast he had fought and killed, he languidly pulled his knife from its sheath again, leaned down and slowly but deliberately set the knife onto the animal's chest right above its heart and pushed it down._

 _Carefully wiping the blade first on the dewy grass and then on his destroyed shirt, he gently slid it back into its sheath on his hip and secured it in place again before closing his helmet visor, slipping the straps of his backpack over his shoulders and mounting his bike._

 _The engine roaring to life tore through the early morning silence._

 _The body, already beginning to Change into its human form as the sun came up, and the Hunter's bloody shirt were the only signs left of his passing._

How had his Companion not come to his aid?

.-.

It was dark by the time the Hunter rode into town – had been for some time, long before he had passed the last marker telling him how far he still had to go to get here. The clouds looked torn, driven across the sky by a fierce, unrelenting wind that had been blowing for days.

The moon was waxing, its light creating fitful shadows on the ground, cast by the naked branches of the trees around him as he took in the village in front of him, the engine of his bike idling, his booted right foot firmly planted on the ground, anchoring him, balancing the weight of the bike.

Looking about himself, all he saw was houses ducking down toward the damp earth as if afraid, with their windows dark, looking like empty eye sockets in skulls long picked clean of flesh, and with their straw roofs moldy from the near-constant drizzle of the past weeks. Just looking at them made him shiver, even though he was dressed in jeans reaching down over his heavy black boots, and a warm leather jacket lined with a gray sweater, with the hood bunched at the nape of his neck along the edge of his helmet to keep out the late October cold.

He raised a gloved hand to push up his helmet visor, which was steaming up with his breath on the inside. Riding open from here on out wouldn't hurt - not far to go now, and he wouldn't be going fast. The letter had said that it was the third house in on the left.

The Hunter put his bike into first gear again, pushing the gear lever down with his left foot, and gently started releasing his clutch even as his right foot rose on its toes, his hand gradually letting go of the brake. He lifted his foot back up to the footrest as the bike slowly started rolling into the village, rumbling softly. The heat rising from the engine felt good, with the cold creeping up on him.

He only looked up at the moon once, his eyes a vivd blue in its cold light.

 _His Companion would only follow once the moon was down, and daylight on its way._

.-.

The knock on her door nearly had Carol jump out of her skin. His letter had said that he was going to arrive today, but between the cold and the late hour she had stopped expecting him some time ago, assuming that he would prefer to turn in well before nightfall. Nevertheless, she had no doubt that this was him - she had heard a soft rumbling outside, and then a metallic scrape against the cobblestones and a tired grunt.

She got out of bed and put on her warm sweater. As winter was coming early this year, she was already wearing socks in bed again, and she decided that they would be enough for the quick trip downstairs to let him in. She slipped out into the hallway and quickly made her way down to the first floor. Looking toward the door from the foot of the stairway, she saw a shadow on the other side of the glass set into the top third of the door. It looked unusually bulky - until two hands reached up and started tugging and she realized that he was wearing a helmet which he was only taking off now.

Her hand automatically found the switch next to the stairs, and she winced when the lights came on. She padded over to the door and turned the key in the lock, taking a deep breath. This man had been recommended to her by a stranger on his way even further up north, but he had seemed trustworthy enough.

Carol was ready to find out if this Hunter was as good as he was said to be.

.-.

He looked shaggy, almost as if he were a wolf himself. His long, dark blond hair was tied into a bun at the nape of his neck, but some strands had escaped the tie when he had taken off his helmet and hung loosely around his head now. His face showed the wear of the years upon him, and the hours he had spent on the road to get here. His line of work had also left its marks on him, with three parallel scars marring his face from his right cheekbone - narrowly missing his eye - down to his lower jaw.

The Hunter was dressed all in black - leather jacket, jeans, and boots - down to his fingerless gloves. The only lighter item on him was the gray lining of his jacket. Even his helmet was jet black, the once shiny surface marred by scratches and scrapes, much like his face. A small part of her noted that the helmet's visor was spotless, seemingly in mint condition. His jacket was padded at the elbows and shoulders, just in case. His bulky black motorbike sat on its kickstand next to him. The crossbow the stranger had mentioned rode on his back, pointing up at the sky, with a bolt already nocked. He took one last step toward the door, closing in on her, and the light of her ceiling lamp fell into his eyes which had been hidden by shadows until now. Her heart seemed to turn in her chest - they looked like small bits of summer sky caught in his face.

„Daryl Dixon," he introduced himself, his voice dark and rough from hours, maybe days of disuse.

„Carol Peletier," she nodded at him.

The look he gave her was intense enough to make her take a step back, and she tried to make it less awkward by taking another one to the side so he could enter the house. He grunted his thanks as he passed her, and when she closed the door behind him she felt the cold waft off him in waves. He had to be frozen to the bone. „Have you eaten?" she asked, looking at him over her shoulder as she preceded him to the stove where her pot still sat with at least one more serving of the potato and meat stew she'd had for dinner.

„Yeah, we have," he mumbled, his voice surprisingly soft, barely loud enough to hear. She wondered at the „we", but didn't ask. He seemed cold, aloof … intimidating even, yet he also exuded a sense of vulnerability, and of his soul having been hurt, and she wanted to avoid interacting with him tonight as much as possible. She needed time to read him, time to adapt to this overpowering presence in her home, before taking him on.

„Would you like something warm to drink then - some mulled wine, or beer, or maybe tea?" Her hand reached for her small pot to take it to the water barrel, but stilled when he shook his head.

„Jus' a bed, don't need nothin' else tonight", he almost growled, shaking his head. „Need ta be awake again when he arrives in the mornin'." He gave no further explanation of who he was still waiting for. Maybe, since the stranger had met him a while back, he had taken to Hunting with a partner.

Carol showed him to the small room where she had made his bed - the room where no child had ever slept or played. The one she had hoped to have, she had lost a few months in, and this loss had been so devastating that she had not allowed it to happen again. The herb woman, Andrea, had supplied her with what was necessary, and Ed had believed her to the end every time she told him that the tea eased her lingering physical pain in the wake of the loss she had suffered. At the same time, preventing a repeat occurrence of this painful experience ensured that Ed was unable to lay his hands on a child the way he regularly laid them on Carol, leaving her black and blue at least once a week.

The Hunter didn't even look around the room as he entered before shedding his jacket like heavy black armor, dropping it on the single chair standing against the wall. He grunted something that might have been a word of thanks, then sank onto the bed with a sigh that belied his earlier defiant posturing.

Without another word, they nodded at each other and Carol withdrew, leaving the Hunter alone to rest.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, the sky was still overcast, with the clouds being driven along by a wind that cut through clothes and skin, straight to the bone. When Carol got up, later than usual because she'd stayed up so late the night before, to make breakfast for herself and the Hunter, she was surprised to find him already awake, working on his bike in front of the house. He was wearing his outfit of the day before, minus the helmet, but his fingers looked frozen stiff with the gloves missing their fingertips.

„Would you care for breakfast? Or will you wait for your partner to arrive, and eat with him?" she asked, stepping outside as she pulled her woolen shawl about her shoulders in an effort to stay warm. He had taken it upon himself to start the fire in the hearth again, and the cold outside came almost as a shock after the comfortable warmth inside.

He looked up from where he was kneeling on the ground, doing something with the front tire of the bike. His eyes looked even bluer in the light of day than they had in the yellowish light of her lamp, even though he had to squint against the whiteness of the sky. The scars running down the side of his face caught and held her gaze for a moment before she met his eyes and felt her heart turn again.

She had never seen eyes like his.

Completely countering his posture, attitude, and behavior, his eyes betrayed a deep-seated pain, something deeply and utterly vulnerable at his core that he wasn't always succeeding in protecting and that had taken too many hits for him to simply walk away from. Clearly uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he lowered his eyes to the ground.

„I'd appreciate breakfast", he mumbled, with no further reference to his mysterious partner. Getting to his feet, he pulled a faded red rag from one of his rear pants pockets and wiped his fingers on it to get rid of the dirt and grease from his bike. When she turned back toward the door, he leaned down to turn the key in the bike's ignition and pull it out, placing it into one of the pockets of his jacket and closing the zipper to keep it safe.

His footsteps as he followed her into the house sounded loud, as if they might bring the building down. Ed's had never sounded this loud, and he had frightened her nearly all the years they had been married. Yet even though the Hunter _sounded_ so much more intimidating than Ed had, she felt no fear.

He hadn't said more than a dozen words to her yet, but he made her feel safer than she ever had.

.-.

He went out after breakfast. Ever since following her into the house after tinkering with his bike, he hadn't said a single word, clearly uncomfortable with making conversation or even being in someone else's company, obviously used to being alone - despite the Companion he had mentioned. She wondered how he would cope with asking the people in the village about the wolf. He would need to knock on doors, introduce himself and his purpose, and ask questions of her neighbors. Whatever his strengths might be, they were clearly different from that.

As she looked out her kitchen window she was surprised to see another man stepping up to him as he turned toward her neighbors' house, back toward the village entrance, obviously intent on following a set order through the village in his investigation.

The other man was slightly taller than he was, no more than two or three inches, with grizzled stubble covering his chin and cheeks. He looked slimmer than the Hunter, with smaller, more delicate hands, longer fingers, and narrower shoulders. She was surprised by how comfortable the Hunter seemed with the stranger so close to him. From what she had seen the night before and during the morning, she had taken him to be skittish and shy, all of which had her question is choice of profession. Interacting with people couldn't be easy for him, yet he allowed this stranger into his comfort zone.

Puzzled, she watched as his hand went to the strap of his crossbow on his chest, anchoring itself, as the two men approached her neighbor's front door.

.-.

„You smell anything already? He been through here recently, or just skirted around?" Daryl asked Rick, his blue eyes pinning his Companion down. Rick shook his head wordlessly, looking away. Daryl nodded once, biting his lower lip, and continued walking toward the first house on their side of the road.

Rick had arrived - or rather, chosen to come out of hiding - at the break of day. He had woken Daryl by throwing a handful of pebbles against his window, and once Daryl had come out, they had discussed their plans for the day. So far, they had no idea if the Changed wolf they were tracking was still in the area, but Carol's letter was recent enough to justify taking some time to look around here before moving on.

When they reached the house they had been heading for, the first one in the village, Daryl visibly braced himself, took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. Clenching his teeth as if preparing for a fight to the death, he glanced over at his Companion and then raised a hand to knock on the door.

The man who opened had white hair and kind eyes. He questioningly raised a bushy eyebrow as he looked from Daryl to Rick and back again. „Good morning, young sirs, what can I do for you?"

Daryl shuffled his feet and lowered his eyes, the kind voice tearing at him. „Good … morning, sir. You have probably heard the rumors that there might be a Changed wolf in the area … and I'm the Hunter who's been called in to find it and … deal with it." Taking another deep breath, he looked up again to meet the man's eyes. „I'm Daryl Dixon."

The older man nodded at him, taking in the jacket, boots, and scowl. Daryl felt that he was looking into his soul, right through the cracks in his shell, in the walls he had built around himself. He had met people like him and Carol before, people who could sense the hurt and pain in others, who could actually _see_ it in his eyes, and he was more afraid of them than of those who were out to hurt and kill him.

The pain they could cause him was far worse.

.-.

After asking all the villagers and listening to them describe the howling and growling that some of them had heard at night, they returned to Daryl's room at Carol's house to go over what they had learned. Daryl got out the rough map that he had used to find his way here and laid it out on the bed. Next, picking up a lead pencil, he quickly sketched the entire village, outlining the houses with some identifying characteristics, the main road, and a handful of the roads branching away from it, on its flip side.

„So", he began, pointing at the left edge of his makeshift village map - where they had come from. „It preceded us, coming from here. I'm pretty sure it's the same one we've been following for half a year already - we haven't heard about another one in all that time, so that's _got_ to be it." He looked up at Rick expectantly, and Rick nodded at him before looking down at the map again.

Daryl carefully placed a small ‚1' at the spot on the map where the wolf had first entered the village, based on what the villagers had heard. Next, he placed a ‚2' where the second person had heard the wolf growl. They proceeded like that until they had mapped the complete pattern of the wolf's movements through the village.

It had entered from the west, trotted down the main road until it had reached the fifth house in, and then turned north, passing to the east of Carol's next door neighbor - which made Daryl's chest tighten days after the fact -, then walked along the vegetable patches in the back of the next three houses, heading east again, turned back onto the main road, circled one house, and then left the village for good toward the north. Nobody had heard or seen it again since that night, eight days ago.

Toeing off his boots and slipping out of his jacket, Daryl scooted back on the bed to lean against the wall. Reaching up to massage his right shoulder, he put his head back to stare at the ceiling, lost deep in thought. After a few minutes of silence he turned his map around to look at the bigger one, pored over this for another few moments and then carefully placed an „x" on it slightly west of the village, which was a dot roughly the size of a fingerprint.

„This is where it had its last meal that we know of, right?" he asked Rick, looking up at him. Rick, who had been getting increasingly restless, tore his gaze from Daryl's shoulder and nodded. „So … with the distances it's been covering, and the winter coming on, and the nights being really cold, and it without shelter all this time … it'll need to eat again today or tomorrow, right?" Another nod from Rick. A look to the side, another exercise in ignoring Rick's guilt.

„That means," Daryl concluded with a sigh, „that we have to warn people of it, and keep them safe. Let's get to it. We've got today."


	3. Chapter 3

The other man had left before sundown. Daryl had continued his rounds through the village alone, warning all of Carol's neighbors to stay indoors because of the Changed wolf he was Hunting. The wolf, he'd explained to everyone, needed to eat at least every two weeks if it had full meals each time - he didn't need to go into detail about what this meant. They all knew. They had all heard the rumors, the stories, and some of them had seen the remains of a „full meal" during their lifetimes.

Therefore, all doors were closed, with everyone inside their homes, by the time he came back into her house, looking haunted, lost, and exhausted. He was cold, and he kept rubbing his hands after taking off his gloves and stuffing them in his jacket pocket. Once, after pushing his hair out of his eyes with his right hand, he winced slightly. When his body finally started registering the heat of the house he exhaled in relief, unzipping his jacket.

Trying to ignore the unease and worry in his eyes, she came up to him. „Dinner? You haven't eaten since breakfast, right?"

„Too much to do," he muttered, continuing toward the door to his room, her dream child's room, her lost child's room. Noticing that it was closed, he frowned. „You don't need to keep this closed," he remarked. „I haven't brought anything beyond what I'm carrying on my body. When I'm out, you can use it - it's … empty of me."

This strange phrase had her trying to catch his eyes, but he evaded her. He opened the door, stepped inside and slipped out of his jacket, letting it slide onto the bed. Then, with the room behind him still unlit, he turned back to face her, and for just a moment she caught something in his eyes, something that made him look fragile, vulnerable … human. Maybe too much so. „May I sit at the fire?" he asked.

„No need to ask," she whispered. „Come warm yourself."

.-.

 _The wolf was clearly ravenous. It might not have eaten in weeks, and it was not going to be discouraged from this meal. Its black coat looked frayed, ragged, and its ribs showed up clearly. It had been starving. His mother was its first meal in weeks._

 _She stood no chance._

 _He watched in shock and horror as the beast loped toward her, slavering, its ivory teeth gleaming as they ripped into her arm, her throat, her chest, tearing on her skin, cracking her bones with its jaws, ripping chunks of meat out of her living body._

 _With her throat torn out, she couldn't even scream._

 _There were no last words, no good-bye._

 _He watched in stunned silence as the wolf fed on her until it was sated, engorged on her blood, her flesh, her life._

 _He was thirteen. The wolf was twice his size and three times his weight. It never occurred to him to defend her since it was obviously pointless, but neither did it occur to him to run. The least he could do was bear witness to her death, and remain with her to the end - not that it took long for_ her _._

 _It took long for_ him _._

 _But the worst was yet to come._

 _While the wolf had still been running toward them, he had fervently wished for the sun to rise so it would Change back. Now that the beast had had its fill, now that his mother lay on the ground, shredded to pieces, he felt its first rays on his face, turning the tears on his cheeks into rubies._

Now _the wolf Changed - now that it was too late._

 _It turned into a malnourished, tall, black-haired man, maybe ten or twelve years older than Daryl himself, with a square jaw and hard brown eyes. He looked as rugged and shaggy as the wolf had, and his face, chest and hands were smeared with his mother's blood. With a low growl, the man looked up from his feast and took a step toward him._

 _It was one word that stopped him._

 _„_ _Shane."_

 _Daryl's head whipped to the side to see another man, tall, with dark brown hair and haunted, faded blue eyes, standing on the edge of the pathway, his eyes on the black-haired man - Shane? - and Daryl, and the remains of his mother at Shane's feet._

 _„_ _Enough."_

 _The Changed man visibly reined himself in. With one last burning look at Daryl he turned away and headed for the second man who had called him back._

 _Daryl stared after them as they disappeared into the forest._

.-.

Daryl woke without a start, without a scream.

This nightmare, this dream, had become a good friend over the years. He'd had it, unchanged, at least once a month ever since he'd been thirteen. At first, he'd clawed and screamed his way out of it several times a night, crying, sobbing, longing for his mother, but waking up to the fists and the belt of his father, to a dark closet that he got locked in for days at a time to shut him up.

When his father had been killed in a tavern fight, Daryl had set out to find the wolf that had killed his mother four years before to put it down. He had briefly met his older brother, Merle, but Merle had already been gone when their mother had died and wasn't interested in getting revenge for her. They had passed each other like flocks of birds, each of them set on his path, each of them unwilling or unable to change it.

Two years into his search he had found the the other man, the one who had stopped the black-haired one, Shane, from killing Daryl as well. His name was Rick, and a while back Shane's soulless way of taking his prey had repulsed him so much that he had parted ways with him. Rick, too, was a Changed one, Daryl had found out. That day in the woods, the sun had struck and Changed him moments before he had reached the edge of the path, mere heartbeats before Daryl had spotted him, which was why he had met the man, not the wolf.

Rick, too, Changed into a wolf every night and back into a man every morning as soon as the sun kissed the horizon. Rick, however, didn't take humans. He preyed on game, and sometimes, if he was left no other choice, on livestock - but not on people. He might have, before Daryl's mother. Daryl didn't know, and he didn't ask. But ever since he had watched Daryl's mother getting eviscerated in front of her son's eyes by his best friend, Rick had not killed a human again.

Remembering the boy in the forest who had accompanied his mother to find food for lunch, he had promised to help him find his former friend - and end it.

.-.

Although the dream itself hadn't gotten to Daryl too badly, the darkness in the small room did, with the storm shutters firmly fixed in place from the outside keeping him from opening the single window. He could already feel his heartbeat and breathing speeding up as he swung his legs out over the edge of the bed and got to his feet. Leaving his boots off for the moment as he assumed that it was still night and didn't want to clonk through the house and wake Carol, he softly padded to the door through the Stygian darkness. His shaking hand on the door's handle was gentle – he remembered the squeal of the hinges, which he felt would be even worse than the sound of his boots.

The living and kitchen area was empty – she had already gone to bed. A quick glance at the window confirmed that it was still fully dark outside, with the light of the moon only spearing down occasionally through small gaps between the racing clouds. If anything, the day that was just leaving had been colder than the one before, and the teeth of winter were in the air already. He had to find his Changed wolf soon, or he would have to postpone bringing it down by yet another year.

It had been too many years already.

Daryl needed this over and done.

He sat by the fireplace, the light of the dying embers playing on his face, going over his and Rick's plans, until Carol came down as the sky started to blush.


	4. Chapter 4

Hoar frost was still lining occasional patches of moss, the edges of papery grass, and the boughs and dying leaves of tree saplings and wild raspberries where the sun hadn't hit the ground yet. The tip of his nose was cold in spite of the black bandana he had pulled up over his face to protect it against the cutting winds. The skin around his eyes was white, and the right side of his face and his right shoulder were aching. He had zipped up his jacket a while back for even without headwind it was too cold already to leave it open. If the wolf hadn't found shelter it would need to move south again – not even a wolf could survive a winter out in the open this far north.

Rick wouldn't survive the winter up here.

Daryl looked over at his Companion and found Rick looking back at him. The guilt in Rick's eyes made him uncomfortable, as always, especially since it was unreasonable. Rick had not been the one to rip his mother apart right before his eyes in the most gruesome way imaginable, and Daryl didn't think there had been any way for him to stop Shane from doing so. Rick had avoided killing people ever since, either as a Changed wolf or the Companion of a Hunter. But he knew that Rick always felt guilty after feeding, and they had passed the deer carcass on their way north from the village, picked clean, not a morsel wasted, with a wolf's trail leading both up to it from the west and away from it toward the south, toward the village – back toward Daryl.

Gnawing on his lower lip, grateful that his bandana was hiding his nervous tell, Daryl looked down at his feet. "If we don't find it within the next few days, before the snow, we'll have to move back south again," he pointed out the obvious. Rick was the one sleeping out in the open every night. He would know all too well that it was getting too cold for that.

"So will he." The rare sound of Rick's voice had Daryl glancing back up again before carefully navigating his way past a fallen tree, with its uprooted foot nearly blocking the trail they were following. "We'll find him again if he does, Daryl. We always do."

Daryl exhaled deeply, his breath pluming up from under his bandana. He didn't bother to look up. "Yeah, but we're losin' time. I want it _gone_." It never escaped his notice how Rick still referred to the wolf, his former best friend, as "he" whereas Daryl himself always made a point of referring to it as "it" – a beast, a were creature without a soul, a creature that he would not have to feel remorse over for killing. Daryl had killed three Changed wolves since he had become a Hunter, and two of them had severely injured him before he had succeeded in putting them down after they had attacked him, either at first sight or in an ambush.

The other four he had managed to catch in their Changed human form, and forced them to drink the potion that would keep them from Changing back again.

For all intents and purposes, he had healed those four. But of course they would not see it that way. To them, he had violated their very nature, taking something from them that they had valued ever since it had been forced on them by a bite. His only alternative would have been to kill them.

But Daryl didn't kill easily.

Still, he wanted this one kill that he was yearning for to come easy to him. He needed that particular wolf to be an "it" until the day he managed to put it down – and beyond.

.-.

They found a trail in the early afternoon, and it pointed south – back toward the village. Both Daryl and Rick went down on their knees to inspect the paw prints in the soft earth, Daryl by looking at them and carefully placing his fingertips in one of them to correctly assess its size, Rick by leaning down all the way to the ground to sniff the scent the Changed wolf had left behind.

"It's him," he declared as he came back up again, defiantly meeting Daryl's eyes. "This is definitely his scent – and he's still hungry."

Everything about this statement was triggering for Daryl. Briefly closing his eyes, he saw the huge jaws of the black wolf closing around his mother's arm, heard bones crack, smelled the scent of warm copper in the air as blood gushed out of his mother's throat. Panting, he opened his eyes again. "It," he stated forcefully, staring back at Rick. " _It_ is hungry. This is not a man. It's a beast, and we're here to save the people from it."

He rose from his crouch and reached out to steady himself against a tree. He'd gone without food or water for too long – breakfast with Carol had been at sunrise, what with her busy from dawn to dusk. Rick followed suit, though he didn't have to steady himself. Unless he were to overexert himself, he would be good to go on his meal of the previous night for at least three or four days. He gave Daryl a worried look. "Let's get you back. You need food, and warmth, and rest."

"I'm not a pussy," Daryl snarled, instantly angry and defensive, and glared up at his Companion as he started following the wolf's trail toward the village.

"Never said you were," Rick answered calmly, not taking offense at Daryl's tone of voice or the heat in his look. "But you were sick not too long ago, you haven't regained the weight you've lost, and I can still see the fever in you. Be careful, or you won't live to catch him."

" _It_."

.-.

She looked up as he opened the door right after knocking, without waiting for her to call out, and as soon as she saw him, Carol knew why he hadn't waited.

The dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes reached down to his cheekbones as he pulled down his bandana, and they were a stark contrast to his pale skin. The claw marks down his cheek were bright red from the cold, and when he took off his jacket and dropped to a crouch in front of the fireplace, he avoided moving his right arm, instead reaching over with his left hand to pull the sleeve off all the way.

He would have sat on his wet boots if she hadn't stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Her heart clenched when he flinched away from her touch in an all too familiar way, either from pain or something else, his head whipping around as he looked up at her with hollow eyes.

She wordlessly pointed at the threadbare couch facing the fireplace and the flames dancing in it, but he silently shook his head, taking a deep breath and holding both hands out toward the fire. Nodding to herself, she crossed the distance toward the couch, bent down and reached around it to bring up a stool, not quite knee-high. He lifted an eyebrow as she brought it over to him. Slowly inclining his head, he rose far enough for her to place the stool under him. "Thanks," he mumbled, his voice sounding as exhausted as he looked, as he sank down onto it.

"So," she began carefully as she sat down on the couch behind him, "have you found the wolf? Is it even a wolf?"

She only saw his silhouette against the fire, so the expression on his face was lost to her when he turned his head sideways, giving her his profile. The way he hung his head, though, the way his shoulders slumped, spoke volumes. "It is a wolf, and it's the one we've been following, yes," he murmured, his voice rough and tired. She listened to the quiet bubbling from the pot on the stove and reminded herself to get him a bowlful of hot stew in ten minutes' time once it was done – if he was still awake then.

"It will need to feed tonight or tomorrow night, from what we've seen. I've gone around the village again to make sure that everyone stays indoors after nightfall – or, even better, after sunset." He carefully rubbed his right shoulder with his left hand and raised his head again, looking back at her now, his face completely in shadow. "Please stay indoors after sunset. I'd hate for you to -" He sounded wounded, scared. How had he been a Hunter for years when the wolves he Hunted got to him this badly?

Carol nodded. "Of course I will. You've told me several times now, and I plan on staying alive. Do you know where to find it?"

"That's the frightening thing right now – it was out there, to the north, but it's circled back to the village. We found its tracks today and they lead back here. We lost it when it crossed the creek north of here." He let his head sink down, his chin touching his shoulder. He looked defeated, and the fight hadn't even begun. "We know that it's hungry, so I can't repeat often enough –" He faltered, remembering that she had only just assured him that she _was_ going to stay indoors after sunset. Tucking his right arm in close to his chest, he lifted his other hand to gently rub the scarred side of his face. "It's been a hard day, and tomorrow will be even harder," he mumbled into his palm and looked back at her again, his body seeming to coil as he prepared to get up. "I think I'll –"

"Wait," she interrupted him. "Dinner is just getting ready. You've been out in the cold all day - you need something hot in your belly before going to bed." With his face again in shadow, she only saw his eyes glittering as he nodded once, quietly thanking her. "It's nothing – you are risking your life for us," she answered softly as she rose from the couch. Very briefly she considered touching his shoulder to reassure him, but then she remembered him flinching from her touch earlier and thought better of it. "I'll get it for you, just stay where you are."

They both ate in front of the fire in comfortable silence, basking in its heat. He held the bowl in his lap with his right hand and fed himself with his left, which seemed odd to her. Finally, she remembered that he had used his right hand to eat during breakfast – and surely he hadn't become left-handed over the course of the day. Maybe the wolves he had Hunted in the past had gotten to him in more ways than one, she mused. Maybe that was why he was a afraid of this one now.

And maybe, just maybe, being afraid would keep him alive until he had Hunted it down.


	5. Chapter 5

He went out again at the break of day to meet with his mysterious friend who, as far as she had been able to find out, wasn't staying with anyone else in the village. Where he went when night fell was anybody's guess, and she _did_ guess, but she remained silent about it. It was very obvious that Daryl trusted the man, whatever he was, and that was enough for her.

They had shared breakfast again, and Carol had made sure to have some warm food to give him - eggs, fried tomatoes, fried sausages, warm buttered bread, hot coffee with lots of sugar. She wanted him to go out warm and well-fed, and she knew that he would be careless about that, so she saw to it herself.

She watched him as he put on his boots and jacket, and was satisfied that he was feeling better than the night before in every respect. He was alert, had been optimistic about his Hunt over breakfast, and he moved freely and easily again. Positioning herself at the door as he was putting on his gloves, she opened and held it for him, and he stopped for a moment, standing so close to her that she could feel his body heat, before stepping through it. „Be careful out there," she whispered, holding his blue eyes with hers.

„You stay indoors once the sun goes down, no matter what you see or hear," he mumbled in reply. „I can't do my job out there if I have to worry about -„ He didn't finish and looked down at his boots, a blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. Even though he was no longer looking at her, he could still see her kind, concerned face framed by her graying hair in front of his mind's eye, and the worry and fear in her blue eyes.

For just a moment, Carol's heart seemed to stop and then started racing in her chest. She watched him stepping out into the cold dawn, his breath billowing from his mouth and nose in huge white clouds, and when he nodded back at her she closed her door with a heavy heart, desperately wishing that it was night again already, with him sitting in front of her fireplace once more to get warm again.

The sun wasn't fully up yet, and she already knew that it was going to be one of the longest days of her life.

.-.

The wolf had followed the creek for miles before climbing out again on the village side of it, and it took them hours to find the trail once more and reassure themselves, once it took on a scent again, that it was indeed that of the wolf they were Hunting.

 _Shane_.

It kept leading them on a merry chase, too, wandering through the forest in large loops, but all in all drawing ever closer to the village as the day wore on. Daryl could feel his apprehension in his bones even as the search kept draining him, with the cold wind biting into his flesh and sucking the heat out of him. The first snow of the coming winter wasn't far off now.

Rick, strengthened by his meal two nights before, was annoyingly energetic, loping along two steps ahead of Daryl, looking back, seeing the Hunter flagging, returning to his side, following him for a bit, and then rushing ahead once more. Just watching him made Daryl feel exhausted, but he knew that the excitement of the Hunt and being this close to their prey, as well as the waxing moon, wouldn't allow Rick to behave any differently, so he remained quiet about it.

By mid-afternoon the wolf's tracks clearly approached the village again, and Daryl looked up at the sky apprehensively whenever they reached a clearing or crossed a path that gave him a clear view of the sky and the sun. With sunset drawing closer, he was getting increasingly worried about the villagers, convinced from experience that one or two of them at least would not heed his advice to stay put once the sun went down.

Much as he hoped to be proved wrong, his fears were to come true.

„Daryl," Rick said quietly behind his back as they were coming up on a narrow trail again, little more than a well-used deer track. Daryl came to a halt, grateful for a short break, and swung his crossbow off his shoulder. Maybe something would cross their path as they were standing here so he'd be able to contribute to their meals. While his contract specified a room and board, he would only feel that he truly deserved both of these once he had fulfilled his side of it - taking down the Changed wolf that had been wantonly killing people instead of game ever since he had first encountered it.

„The moon," Rick pointed out in little more than a whisper, and as Daryl looked up and sought it out as it was coming up over the distant horizon, he saw that it was finally full. Rick retreated into the underbrush even as Daryl nodded at him in understanding. „Be careful," Rick admonished him at the last moment, the color of his eyes already changing to burnt amber. „I'll be there, but you still have to be careful. He's Changing as well, and we'll both stay this way for a whole day and night until it's no longer full." Daryl nodded - and Rick was gone. In his place, a large, gray-brown wolf loped away through the underbrush, following the trail of the other one - the one that used to be its friend.

.-.

Daryl kept his promise. He was careful, looking out in every direction whenever he stepped out into the open, exposing himself, listening intently before he moved, and closely following the two sets of paw prints through the forest.

Dusk had arrived, and as the sun kept sinking behind the trees, the temperature plummeted. Daryl pulled his bandana up over his nose and mouth like a mask again and dug his gloves back out of his jacket pocket - they were good enough for riding his bike, and had proven good enough for walking through the forest.

It was getting difficult to make out the wolves' trails in the semi darkness, and he was getting apprehensive over not seeing Rick again ever since he had Changed. Rick rarely allowed Daryl to observe him as he Changed from man to wolf or wolf to man, and he had only seen him do it in daylight half a dozen times before in all the time they had travelled together - he only Changed before sunset when a full moon rose during the day, which wasn't too often.

As he was carefully stepping across a fallen tree, the village already in front of him now, he suddenly heard a swishing noise that reminded him of running through high grass, followed by a thump and a blood-curdling scream. Then the barking of a dog, cut short. His heart sank. There was the one person that hadn't taken his advice, insisting on going out in spite of his repeated warnings, just to walk a dog.

Daryl drew a shuddering breath and started running in the direction of the scream.

.-.

The huge black wolf was still feeding when he came upon it, and its eyes gleamed almost red as it raised its head to stare at him across the distance separating them. It snarled and bared its fangs in something akin to hatred - but Daryl knew that it wasn't sentient enough for such an emotion. The sheep for whom this patch of land had been fenced in were frightened, badly so, but otherwise unharmed, even though they would have been a viable alternative for the wolf.

Dimly he noticed that the belly of one of the heifers was swollen, with the animal very obviously only hours from giving birth, and the dog that had been guarding the sheep - where was the shepherd? - was lying not far from him. Looking at the ground in front of the wolf, Daryl recognized the white hair and what remained of the kind face of the old man, and grief and rage exploded in his chest.

Abandoning all caution, he screamed in frustration and hatred both at the perversion of nature in front of him and at himself, and he hurled himself at the wolf, yanking his crossbow from his back and firing it without really taking aim. He was all furious rage and unthinking thirst for revenge, not just for his mother but for all the people he had seen ravaged by this creature over the years, with Carol's neighbor only its latest victim in a long list.

His silver-tipped bolt flew wide, missing the wolf by three feet or more, and he grabbed one of the reserve bolts from the quiver mounted on his bow and tried to stab the wolf with his bare hand as he threw himself at it, crashing into the wolf even as it was hurling itself at him in turn. Coming up against each other in midair, they fell to the ground, a tangle of human and animal limbs, the bolt falling from Daryl's hand in the confusion, with the wolf snapping at his face, hands, neck, and Daryl craning away from the salivating jaws to avoid its bite on top of the damage that its claws were doing.

Even as he was fighting for his life, he kept looking and listening frantically. Where was Rick? Had the wolf killed Rick?

And then a shape came hurtling out of the darkness, yipping to catch Shane's attention and distract him from Daryl - and Rick barreled into Shane, his momentum carrying them both away from the Hunter lying on the ground, snapping and biting and pummeling the black wolf with his forepaws in an attempt to keep it down until Daryl had regained his feet and retrieved his crossbow so he'd be able to put it down with the last of his silver-tipped bolts.

But then the black wolf got in a vicious bite to Rick's shoulder that had Daryl's Companion howling in agony, and the black wolf, loath to stick around for the Hunter to come at it again, turned tail and disappeared into the night, loping toward the south, away from the village, leaving behind three bloodied and torn shapes in the trampled grass.


	6. Chapter 6

Carol had been on edge ever since darkness had fallen, with the full moon casting a bone-white light over the frozen landscape that did nothing to ease her fears whenever she looked out, eager to see if he was coming back in from his Hunt. All she had seen so far was Hershel, the village vet, heading out in the direction of the sheep pasture with his bag, and he, too, hadn't returned before dark. When Daryl finally _did_ come back, his knock on the door was almost too faint for her to hear, and her heart was up in her throat as she opened the door.

Daryl was resting against the door jamb, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged, leaning on the dark shape of a huge wolf by his side with a hand red with blood, either his own or the wolf's, she wasn't certain. She saw the strap of his crossbow across his chest, but he wasn't holding it, the way he usually did - he was beyond caring about his weapon, wearing it like so much dead weight. The wolf's fangs were bared in a snarl, but it kept leaning against Daryl's leg which gave her the impression that it was really guarding him, if such a thing was even possible. It _was_ a Changed wolf, after all, and they were said to be beyond reason or loyalty. Yet this one was … different, apparently, retaining a bond with Daryl even in its Changed state.

Stepping aside to make room for Daryl, she gasped when she saw the blood on his skin and clothes. She frantically checked for a bite, but only found claw marks. When the light from inside the house fell upon his face he opened his eyes and she had to take a step back from him. The pain in his face and his eyes was staggering.

„'m sorry", he breathed. „It got your neighbor, out on that big sheep pasture to the west, the one in the first house, forgot his name …" He trailed off, trying to catch his breath. The wolf at his side rose from its haunches and took two steps forward, taking Daryl's hand holding on to the fur on its back with it, and he slowly started stumbling into the house. Three steps in, just beyond the door, he came to a halt again, steadying himself against the wall with his left hand.

„No, Rick," he mumbled, obviously addressing the wolf. „I'm bleeding all over the place, I can't go inside …" The wolf stopped, sat back down, and looked up at Carol almost expectantly, its amber eyes glowing in the firelight.

She couldn't very well allow him to pass out on her doorstep, so she slipped under his right arm, feeling him flinch in pain as she lifted it up, and slowly walked him to the sofa in front of the fireplace. He tried to protest, and he stalled twice on the way there, but he was in no condition to put up any kind of meaningful resistance. By the time she helped him sit down, he was almost out of it. Looking at the deep slash a wolf's claws had left on his jaw, she shuddered, unsure what to do about it. „I don't have supplies to take care of something like … _this_!" she whispered, not sure at this point if she was talking to the man or the wolf.

Daryl forced his eyes open. „Saddle bags. Bike," he managed. „Take Rick. It's still out there." His voice heavy with guilt, laden with shame. „I … I didn't get it." His eyes closed again and his head lolled to the side, his body relaxing as he finally - mercifully - lost consciousness.

.-.

The night before, he hadn't expected to make his way back to the village, back to her house, back to _her_ , after getting attacked by the wolf. Once he _had_ made it back, he hadn't expected to wake up again.

Yet here he was, waking up, and feeling reasonably comfortable despite his fresh injuries. He could hear the crackling of a fire, and he could hear Carol puttering about in the kitchen, and he felt the light of day against his eyelids. Freeing his left hand from the soft, warm blanket covering him up to his chin, he gingerly reached up to touch his jaw - he remembered the wolf's claws ripping into his skin the night before.

His fingertips did find a dressing there, and touching it woke up the pain not just there but everywhere - in his shoulder, his thigh, his side - pain not just from open wounds but also old ones, and from bruises where he'd hit the ground and where the wolf had butted into him.

And he remembered his Companion getting bitten.

With a groan, Daryl threw back the blankets covering him and slowly sat up, his head swimming, intent on getting out and finding Rick. He stared down at himself as the air hit his naked skin - mostly naked, anyway. Apparently, Carol had undressed him to gain better access to his wounds so she could take care of them. He could feel his cheeks turning crimson as he looked at the marks left on his skin by a belt and a whip, fully aware of the fact that his back looked even worse than his chest. He would never live this down.

Looking around the room to find his clothes, he saw Rick curled up next to the fireplace, a poultice tied in place on his right shoulder. He still hadn't Changed back which meant that not even a whole day had passed since they had watched the full moon rise together.

Carol had found it in her to allow a Changed wolf to stay in her house, along with the Hunter, trusting Daryl to know the wolf that was his Companion well enough to bring it into her house and be confident that it would not pose a threat to her. Allowing a stranger to live with her had been risky. Allowing the wolf to stay indoors with him was either madness - or bravery.

And yet …

A man had died again in spite of his best efforts, and here he was, waking up to a warm fire, and to his Companion and himself being taken care of, and to a woman preparing food for him. How he deserved any of this when he had failed yet again was beyond him.

He hated himself.

His shirt lay on the backrest of the couch, obviously waiting for him to put it on, and he frowned at it. „I've washed and mended it", Carol's voice drifted toward him from the kitchen. „Your pants are on the chair at the desk, I've just finished mending your ripped knee. I assume that you don't want to … remain naked like this …" She faltered, and he blushed again. Facing the fire, he had left her with a clear and unobstructed view of his back. Ignoring the pain tearing from his right shoulder down into his arm, he reached for the shirt and quickly put it on.

Rick, he saw, had cracked one eye open at the sound of Carol's voice, and when he saw Daryl sitting up and moving, he blinked once, slowly. Reassured that Rick would be okay, Daryl nodded back at him. While he was quite banged up, with several painful claw slashes, and even his legs covered in bluish-black bruises, he was going to be okay as well, and he owed Rick for helping him get back here. Left to himself after last night's attack, he didn't think he would have made it.

Daryl slowly rose from the couch, standing still for a few moments to adjust and allow his head to stop spinning, and then made his way to the chair and his pants. He had to sit down to put them on, and when he was fully dressed again Carol turned around at the stove to give him a stern look. „You had better not show up at my door in such a state again," she warned him, and one side of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile as he blushed.

„Yes, Ma'am," he mumbled in mock obedience. After a moment's obligatory staring at his feet, he looked up again to watch her cooking breakfast, his heart growing heavy. „I need to go out there and find the body of … Hershel, it was? The old man in the first house on your side of the street as you come in from the west?"

Carol shook her head. „I've already told the mayor about Hershel, and he sent out several men to bring him back. They also found two of your crossbow bolts near the body - they're next to your crossbow, at the door." She took a spatula to whatever she was making in her skillet and then briskly moved the skillet itself back and forth several times. „Would you set the table? When will … Rick? … Change back again?" She sounded quite nonchalant about the werewolf lying by her fireplace Changing into a man again, Daryl thought.

„Only once the moon goes down," Daryl mumbled, rising to his feet and shuffling over to the stack of plates on the small sideboard. Carrying them back to the table was almost beyond him, but he made it and set them out along with the knives and forks Carol had provided. „It's full, so he'll stay a wolf for twenty-four hours. It rose yesterday afternoon, so he'll be a wolf nearly all day today."

Looking back at the wolf curled up by the fire, at the poultice on its shoulder, he next stared at her back until she turned her head to return his gaze. „Thank you for allowing him to stay inside," he mumbled. „And for taking care of him. That … can't have been easy, and I appreciate it. Without him … I probably wouldn't have made it back last night."

„He does seem very protective of you," she nodded after a few moments of silence before turning back to the stove and her skillet. „He growled at me last night when I started taking care of you. I'm sure there's a story there somewhere, and a pretty unusual one, too."

Daryl looked over at the wolf again and remembered the man standing in the early morning sunlight, calling out, „Enough".

So he told her his unusual story.


	7. Chapter 7

Carol was angry. She didn't understand, or rather, she didn't _want_ to understand, and he got that. She wanted them to stay until they had both healed, and he saw the reasoning behind that, and appreciated that she was worried about them - about _him_ \- badly enough to be mad at him for not following her reasoning, but he couldn't lose any more time. The wolf, he was sure, hadn't stopped for anything since taking off toward the south the night before, and he had to follow as quickly as possible or risk losing its trail.

He had rushed through the breakfast she had made for him, sharing his meat and sausages with Rick who seemed to be much better than the night before; had cleaned his crossbow and inspected it to make sure that it hadn't taken any damage from his rough and careless handling of it; and had tied back his hair and started putting on his boots the moment he was finished.

„What do you think you're doing?" she had asked, her tone deceptively calm and quiet as she came up next to him and Rick. The wolf had looked up at her with its amber eyes from where it was sitting in front of Daryl, keeping an eye on him.

„Gettin' ready to move out," he had answered, his voice soft. „It's been movin' since last night, since it finished feeding on your neighbor." He knew he was being an asshole, but he had to focus on what he was putting on the line with every moment he delayed his departure. It was the lives of innocent people that he was risking, and he had already lost too many of those over the years to risk any more.

„It's getting too cold up here," he went on, defending himself. „It can't stay here any longer, and it won't come back again for me. Your winters get so cold that it would risk freezing to death at night - and I would risk Rick. So it fed, because it had to, it was running low, and now it's on its way back down south, where it can stay in the open at night without freezing." He looked up at her briefly, but she was so pissed that she looked off toward the window, denying him her eyes. With a sigh he picked up his jacket and started putting it on. „We're Hunting it, so we have to follow. There's no way around it. We've got to leave."

His voice became softer. „Today."

A whisper. „Now."

She did meet his eyes then, hearing the anguish in his voice, and realizing that he wasn't leaving out of spite, and that moving on didn't leave him unaffected. It tore at her to hear how much he cared, how much he didn't want to go. Her heart ached at the thought of giving him grief over something he hated doing, but had to do nonetheless. „Be safe out there," she whispered as he swung his crossbow onto his back and put on his gloves.

Once again, his eyes seemed incredibly blue as they held hers for an endless moment. „I will remember," he breathed. „And I will try -„

She placed one finger on his lips, silencing him. „Do not make promises you cannot keep," she warned him. „I'm the kind of person that will hold you to your promises, and hate you for breaking them. Try what you need to - but do not give me something now just to take it away again later."

Biting his lip, he nodded and picked up his helmet. „Stay indoors after sunset." His voice was brittle, and he was unable to look at her. Opening the helmet's visor, he grasped the chin straps to both sides to hold them down against the helmet's edge and keep them outside and accessible, and then raised the helmet over his head.

Just as he started pulling it down, her hand came up, lightning fast, and brushed over his cheek. Closing his eyes, relishing the unexpected touch, not flinching away from it, he swallowed hard, and when he opened his eyes again to meet hers, she lowered her hand, averting her face, her lips quivering. His eyes burned as he put on his helmet and closed the chin strap.

He grabbed his backpack, nodded at her, once, his eyes again looking like the sky inside the darkness of his helmet, and was gone.

The wolf trotted out after him, looking up at her as it passed.

Carol firmly closed the door behind the wolf, unable to follow and watch. Leaning against the door, seeing his blurred shape through the glass inset as he fixed his crossbow in place and swung his backpack onto his back instead, she heard his bike roaring to life, heard the scrape of metal against stone as he turned up the kickstand, and after a few more moments - during which he turned the bike toward the west, walking it backward while already sitting on it - he revved the engine twice, and then he was gone.

The fire crackled in the hearth, the house screaming its emptiness around her.

Hugging herself, she took a deep breath and stepped up to the sideboard on which she'd set the plates for breakfast. Her hands were perfectly steady as she opened one of the two drawers and took out a knife.

It was made of silver.

.-.

They traveled fast, sparing neither the bike nor themselves, pushing south relentlessly. That same night, they made camp in a field they had passed on their way north four days before, surprised at the difference that a day's distance - a long, hard day's distance - made in the temperature at night and their degree of discomfort in the morning. The trail they were following was still fresh, and when they set out the next morning it didn't seem to have aged that much, compared to the day before. Apparently, Shane had rested during the night as well, which meant that they hadn't lost too much time by giving in to their physical needs.

While packing up for their second day on the road, they had discussed whether or not Shane had also been injured in their fight and had arrived at the conclusion that Daryl's second bolt, the one he had wielded in his hand when jumping toward Shane, might have grazed him, but other than that, they had to assume that Shane had escaped unscathed. Daryl had never even _pulled_ his silver-bladed knife on him.

While they had both attacked him, Daryl's first bolt had flown wide, the second hadn't inflicted any noticeable damage, and he had not had a chance to even take the third one out of his quiver. His own unarmed damage potential against a werewolf was nothing to write home about, whereas Shane's claws alone, as well as his weight crashing into Daryl and throwing him down, had inflicted considerable damage on him.

The same was more or less true for Rick. He had boweled Shane over, managing to get him off Daryl, but had not had a chance to follow through with his attack in any meaningful way before getting bitten himself. His claws, he pointed out, might have done some damage, but the effects of the fight would certainly not slow Shane down. They could only hope that he was assuming they would allow themselves some time to heal and only follow with a considerable delay.

If Shane didn't assume anything of the sort, maybe even hoping that they would not follow at all any longer, but instead traveled at full speed, they would have to search for his trail again - without any indication of where he was headed or where he might stop on the way. And this, Daryl thought, was with another wolf helping him track the beast, which made identifying the tracks as Shane's much easier than it would have been for him alone.

They pushed on.

.-.

Daryl noticed subtle signs of being followed or watched on the third day out. It was nothing that he could have put his finger on, but the signs were definitely there, even if some of them could be traced back to gut instinct. At times, it was literally only a feeling of being watched, of eyes burning into his back - but also of benevolent attention on him, for which he had no explanation, especially since he spotted nobody at all whenever he gave in and looked around himself.

When he talked about it to Rick, all he received for an answer was a blank stare when he would have expected Rick to have already sniffed out their pursuer. The really big question was who, except for Shane himself, whose trail they were _following_ , would have any interest in following _them_. Maybe someone was holding a grudge because of a wolf they hadn't managed to take out and that had killed someone dear to whoever was stalking them?

Also, Daryl had absolutely no idea _how_ anyone could be following them consistently at the speed with which they were traveling south. By day, Rick rode on the bike behind Daryl, carrying the backpack. Once he felt the Change coming upon him, Daryl stopped to take a break while Rick retreated into a copse of trees or a field not yet harvested. Once he had completed his Change, they then routinely traveled on for at least one or two hours, with the wolf loping along at nearly the same speed as the bike, but slightly back from the road so other travelers would not spot him. How anyone could essentially match that pattern without drawing their attention to them was beyond Daryl, no matter how closely he kept watching their backs.

Daryl took to sleeping in uncomfortable positions so he would wake at the smallest disturbance, and Rick stopped venturing out too far from Daryl's camp at night, loath to leave him behind unguarded.

However their pursuer was doing it, Daryl still felt like he was being watched - and Rick was beginning to feel it as well.


	8. Chapter 8

She fought to keep them within sight, for catching up to them again if they should pull too far ahead of her seemed highly unlikely, if not impossible. Finding someone to take her along immediately after getting dropped off proved easier than she had anticipated - her appearance and the urgent look on her face did seem to make an impression on the drivers of the contraptions that she rode in.

Once, when she saw the bike already parked on the edge of a meadow while she was still sitting in the passenger seat of a dilapidated truck delivering building materials, Carol briefly contemplated continuing on ahead so _they_ would for once have to catch up to _her_ , but abandoned the idea again quickly. The risk of losing them at the next fork in the road was too great, and as she never knew exactly where the bike and the wolf as well as her own rides were going when she climbed into whatever vehicle had stopped for her, she had no way of knowing or planning her route.

Therefore, she instantly asked the truck driver to drop her off in the next village, claiming that she needed to get something for her trip there that couldn't be put off. The man shook his head, and more so when she told him not to wait for her but go on at once, but he did as she asked. At least she would be in a reasonably large town the next morning where hitching a new ride would not be quite as difficult as it would be out on the open road.

Despite the unexpected ease of her trip, she hoped that she would not have to go on like this for much longer. All things considered, the risk of losing their trail on the road was too great for her liking.

.-.

They had been traveling into near darkness, making camp only when it had gotten too cold for Daryl to keep riding. Rick went off to hunt while Daryl opened his bedroll and found himself a dry spot to lay out his sleeping bag and blanket. Although another day had passed since they had left behind the village and Carol, taking them to Samhain, the last day of October, it was still significantly warmer than it had been days before farther up in the north. He would be able to go without a fire for the night, unless he decided to have something warm to eat or drink.

Daryl hadn't seen Rick again since they had separated at sundown, and he didn't expect him to put in an appearance again before the sun came up the next morning. Rick, he knew, would make sure their trail was still fresh, and in addition to that he would keep an eye out for signs that Shane had picked up on the fact that they were following him. If he had, Rick would come back to alert him so they could continue right away, without a break. This meant that he had better make the best of what rest he would be able to get, not knowing if it would be cut short or not.

He let his backpack slide off his shoulders and carefully pried his crossbow from its mount above the front wheel of his bike, gently placing it in the grass next to him before he proceeded to unpack the food he'd brought. He had enough to make a decent meal tonight – a heel of bread, a dozen strips of dried meat, and two apples. He could hear a small stream bubbling not too far away, so he'd have enough to drink as well. Getting up, he grabbed his canteen – surely it would be wise to fill it before it was completely dark. He didn't fancy toppling into the stream because he couldn't see where he was placing his feet any longer.

Later, with his camp set up and his belly full, he listened to the sounds of night descending, his back against the ticking engine block of his bike that was still radiating heat, keeping him warm and comfortable. There was a light breeze, but it didn't compare to the fierce, chilling winds that he'd been exposed to up in the north. Although they had only been traveling for four days, the difference in the current temperatures and the general climate was remarkable, already leaving its imprint on the dwellings that he was passing. The windows here were larger, and every house had a porch for spending leisure time outside – something that nobody up in the north would ever consider.

His thoughts drifted back up north, back to Carol. She had been absolutely remarkable, outstanding even, in the way she had treated him. Everyone else who hired a Hunter regarded them more or less as a contracted servant, and this was always reflected in every single interaction between him and his employers - from the way he was addressed to the accommodation he was given. Sometimes he was made to sleep in the stable, next to sheep or pigs, and he could count on one hand the number of times that he had been asked to share a meal with the person who had contracted him.

And Carol Peletier had done much more than treat him with respect, give him a decent room to sleep in, and ask him to share her meals. She had treated him with care – something that he hadn't experienced since his mother had been torn to shreds.

She had looked at him with something that went beyond care.

He stopped himself right there. This was not an idea he should be pursuing, he knew. She had hired and paid him to do a job. Sure, she had gone above and beyond practically everyone else who had ever hired him in the way she had interacted with him, but he admonished himself not to read too much into this. She was a respectable woman, and a kind one. She would treat him decently, but there was no way she would endanger her reputation in the small community she called home, and as a widow, even allowing him to stay in her house had skirted dangerously close to the edge of doing just that. He was free, obviously, to dream of more, but there was never going to _be_ more between them. He would only be setting himself up for heartache.

He was a Hunter, and she had paid him for the time he had stayed up there, hunting his wolf.

That was it.

Taking a deep breath, he crawled into his sleeping bag, pulling his blanket around his shoulders, and tried to force himself to sleep.

The night seemed colder than before.

.-.

Carol had watched them separate as the sun was setting, Rick disappearing into the forest by the roadside, Daryl continuing on his bike alone, as usual. When the truck she had been riding in passed Daryl as he was setting up his camp, she asked the driver to stop and let her off at the next village which, fortunately, was already ahead of them. She thanked him politely, handed him the sum they had agreed on as her fare, and once he was out of sight, she shouldered her bundle and headed back the way she had come - back toward his camp.

Two days before, with the nights getting warmer, she had decided to forego the inns and instead camp out in the open, just like he did. It would allow her to keep a closer watch on him and come to his help if the wolf should be in the area and decide to attack him while he was alone, with Rick roaming the forest.

Careful to stay far enough away from him, she set up her own camp, complete with a small fire to cook some of the beans she had brought on the trip. She kept looking up to make sure he was staying put and his camp remained undisturbed. She had finished her meal by the time she saw him slide down from where he'd been leaning against the bike to get some sleep.

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise behind her, and her heart jumped into her throat. Grabbing her silver knife, she whirled around, ready to face the black wolf and keep it occupied until Daryl could reach her. But the wolf facing her didn't come for her throat. It just stood there, growling, and she finally noticed that its coat was gray-brown instead of black and it had a healing bite wound on its shoulder.

Rick had found her.

.-.

Daryl woke with his heart in his throat, well aware from this fact alone that something or someone was out there and he had to remain quiet or give himself away. He felt clammy and cold which meant that he was already covered in dew, so morning couldn't be too far off. The sky was turning dusky toward the east, and he could already make out details on his bike, and see the trees on the other side of the small brook where he had filled his flask for dinner. Lying motionless, he saw nothing that would have warranted the intense fear flooding him that still had his heart hammering.

He strained his ears for any sound other than the mumbling of the water nearby and the birds slowly waking up to the dawning day. In the distance he could hear a wheezy bus or truck rumbling by on the road.

And then he heard it.

He was absolutely certain that this was the sound that had woken him. The sound of a foot, a leg, moving through the knee-high grass around him.

Again, closer.

Again, ever closer.

It had to see his bike any second now.

Moving as quietly as possible, he snaked his right arm out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his crossbow while reaching for the knife at his hip with his left, inside his sleeping bag and blanket. Using his fingertips only to minimize noise, he opened the small clasp securing the knife in place and gently slid it out, careful not to let the blade touch the sheath as this would produce an audible metallic sound.

He inhaled silently, trying to slow down his breathing.

With no doubt whatsoever about what he was going to see, he sat up abruptly, his knife slicing through his sleeping bag and blanket as his left hand went out behind him for support while he raised the bow with his right.

He barely had time to register the glowing eyes in the semi-darkness, and the outline of a huge head with bared teeth, and the massive shoulders, a shadow growing out of the night. Shane jumped on top of him instantly.

.-.

Rick howled once before running off into the charcoal gray morning, and Carol jerked awake and sat up to look after him. When she realized that he wasn't hunting but reacting to something, and that he was rushing off in the direction of Daryl's camp with no intention of coming back, she was jolted into action. Freeing herself from her bedding, she grasped her knife and came to her feet without ever noticing the small aches that came with sleeping on the ground.

Running after Rick, she could now make out the sounds of fighting - the low growl of the attacking wolf, Daryl's panting and groaning as he warded it off and fought to move his knife into position, and the sounds of the two combatants rolling through the dewy grass.

Next, Rick produced a yipping sound as he joined the melee, briefly distracting the black wolf that Daryl was struggling with. The three of them continued rolling through the grass, all of them getting torn up either by Shane's or Rick's claws as the fight continued. Grunting, Daryl managed to free his left hand for a moment and swung his knife at Shane, but the huge wolf skipped to the side with Daryl still holding on to him with his right hand, thus taking Daryl's other arm with it so he ended up slicing into his own forearm.

She noticed the crossbow lying on the ground between the three of them and the bike and briefly considered picking it up and using it herself, but realized it would be a wasted effort. She'd only be able to shoot once, and that only if he hadn't already used the bolt that was always nocked and ready while he was carrying the weapon. If he had already fired it, she would have lost precious time.

So she decided to use her knife instead as she had planned to all along, which could do the job just as well as his silver-tipped bolts could. Apparently, Shane hadn't noticed her yet, and she attempted to sneak up on the knot of men fighting on the ground and rolling back and forth.

Rick gave a pained yowl when Shane snapped at his wounded shoulder, pulling back to get safely away from his former friend's fangs, and this opened up enough room for Carol to swoop in with her silver knife, embedding it deep in the wolf's side as she stared into Daryl's wide eyes looking up at her in shock.

Growling, Shane threw himself about to face Carol and jump her, completely ignoring Daryl and Rick now, and Daryl was up on his knees in an instant, grabbing his bow from the ground and aiming it at the fierce creature. Making sure that the bolt would not even get close to Carol at the angle he was coming from, he fired it, tossed the weapon aside and threw himself at the wolf again, jumping it from behind.

The bolt hit Shane's torso just below his ribs, and the huge black wolf started panting at once, blood welling from the wound. It looked dark and rich in the light of early dawn, its beauty distracting as Rick barreled into the wolf's injured side, his momentum carrying it off Carol and out of Daryl's path.

Daryl stared at Carol with a wild look in his eyes, reassuring himself that she hadn't been seriously harmed by Shane's attack, and then went in again. Rick and Shane were rolling on the ground, each desperately trying to get on top of the other and in position for a deadly bite on the neck, but Rick had the advantage now with Shane bleeding from both a knife wound and a bolt injury obviously compromising his lungs.

And then Carol struck out again with her knife that Daryl was seeing for the first time, a knife shining as brightly in the fresh light of day as the tips of his bolts, and the blade sank deeply into the chest of the black wolf, going straight for its heart.

It kept struggling against Rick's weight for another few seconds and then stilled, its blood pooling on the damp earth, soaking Carol and Daryl's clothes and Rick's fur.

Daryl stared into the huge beast's hate-filled eyes as the light of life left them.

The beast he'd been hunting for years was dead.

His Hunt was over.


	9. Chapter 9

They were sitting side by side on Daryl's shredded sleeping bag and blanket, enjoying the sunlight, their eyes on the Changed body on the ground in front of them.

Rick recognized his former friend, his face made ugly by years of hate and cruelty.

Daryl recognized the man who had come for his own blood after killing his mother, disappointed that seeing him dead on the ground didn't fill the void left by her, and frightened by the fact that the woman he loved had risked her life to kill the beast he had been.

Carol saw a stranger who had wanted to kill the first man ever to treat her kindly and respectfully.

For a long time, neither of them was willing to speak.

„So," Rick finally said after an eternity, and cleared his throat. The sun had already fully risen above the horizon, bathing them in light and warmth. Around the area trampled during the fight, the grass was already dry. It was going to be a cloudless, warm autumn day again. „What are we doing about the body?"

„Same as always," Daryl mumbled, forcing himself to answer as he inspected the cut on his arm. „I'll head over to that village," - he nodded his head in the direction of the houses lined up along the road at the other end of their meadow - „find the mayor, show him my contract, get payment, and they'll take care of it."

Rick pulled Daryl's backpack over by one of its straps and started digging through it until he found the med kit. As Daryl was normally the one using it, Rick had to all but empty it to find everything he was looking for, and when he was done, his supplies lined up in front of him, he held up a small, translucent glass ampoule with a shimmering amber liquid in it. „What's this supposed to be? You're not even carrying syringes for injecting yourself."

Daryl stared at him in disbelief. „You're telling me you've never seen it?" he asked. When Rick just gave him a puzzled look, Daryl carefully plucked the ampoule out of Rick's fingers and held it up into the sunlight to admire its color, a wistful look on his face. Then he took Rick's hand, turned it so his open palm faced the sky, placed the ampoule in it and folded Rick's fingers around it. „This is yours. It's my last. I've been saving it for you, for when we're done."

Carol's chest constricted. Could this really be the end? Was he giving it up?

Rick shook his head. „I don't understand - what is it, what am I supposed to do with it?"

„Drink it," Daryl said in all seriousness. „Drink it now. Before the sun sets."

Rick's eyes widened in awe. „This is -?" Too stunned to finish, he opened his hand again to stare at the ampoule. He'd heard Daryl talk about it, heard him mention that the man who had made these for him had died a while back and he couldn't get any more.

„Yeah, this is the serum. You drink this while you're a man, you won't Change back again." Daryl slowly turned his head, noting only peripherally that Carol had started cleaning the cut on his forearm with the supplies laid out by Rick, and held his Companion's blue eyes. „It will … heal you. If you see it as an illness, that is. You can live a normal life."

Carol, seeing that small spots of blood were soaking through his shirt high on his right arm, carefully unbuttoned the shirt and gently slid it off his shoulders before taking off the bandage she had wrapped around his shoulder and arm that night, liberally dotted with red. Seeing him like this in the light of early morning instead of the dancing light and shadows of her fire, with the deep scratches from four nights before gauged across the old scars, the stitches busted in today's fight and his skin littered with dark bruises on top of the older scars covering his chest and back, she had to sit back, regain her composure and give her hands time to stop shaking before continuing to tend to his wounds.

Rick's eyes went from the ampoule to the distant horizon, to his friend who was still watching him intently. „You've been keeping this for me?" he asked, his voice husky.

„Yeah," Daryl mumbled, wincing as Carol cleaned one of the ugly slashes on his shoulder. „I'd wanted to give it to that wolf that attacked me and did this -„ He nodded down at his scarred shoulder. „- and that I ended up putting down because I couldn't subdue it alone."

„Oh god, no," Rick whispered, and both Carol and Daryl looked at him in surprise at his anguished tone of voice. „You wanted to give her -?" He fell silent, the look on his face nearly breaking Daryl.

„What is it?" Daryl whispered. „Why weren't you there that morning? Why didn't you come? Did you … know it?" His stomach seemed to drop into an endless abyss.

Rick shook his head, still trying to get his emotions under control again. „Don't," he whispered brokenly. „You'll hate me."

Daryl raised an eyebrow. „How could I hate you? You've saved my life often enough. Hell, you saved me from _him_ three times!" He nodded over at Shane's body.

„You don't understand," Rick whispered. „I knew her. That's why I couldn't … That's why I left you to fight her alone. This -„ He looked at Daryl's shoulder. He knew that it had never fully healed - he had seen Daryl cradle his arm after long, hard days on the road, or use the crossbow with his left arm despite being right-handed - and guilt flooded him.

„This is my fault. I couldn't … She was my wife, Daryl. Lori. Shane grazed her with his teeth the night he got me, and she … she didn't want to come with us. She didn't roam like we did. I couldn't help you kill my wife, and I thought killing her was our only option." His voice had sunk down to little more than a whisper. „I'm so sorry."

Carol and Daryl watched in stunned silence as Rick rose to his feet, moving like an old man. „I need to be alone for a while. Just a few minutes … I'll be back." He wandered off into the forest as if he were sleepwalking.

.-.

Carol finished patching up Daryl's injuries old and new, stitching up the deep gauges left by Shane's claws once more, dressing and bandaging them, and cleaning and bandaging the smaller wounds. She briefly considered putting his arm in a sling, but he would have been unable to ride his bike with only one arm, so she just warned him to be careful when using it so he wouldn't pop his stitches again.

Once she was done and had helped him put his shirt back on, he leaned against his bike, emotionally drained and exhausted from the fight against Shane, his shock at seeing Carol, and Rick's devastating confession. Nevertheless, he insisted on taking care of her bruises and abrasions, gently, and with trembling fingers. His calloused hands whispered across her skin like butterfly wings, afraid of hurting her.

He didn't dare look at her face. She could sense that he was holding something back.

„Why did you follow us?" he burst out suddenly. „It could've hurt you. Hell, it could've _killed_ you. You could have _died_. Why did you follow us?" He was panting, and he sounded upset, afraid. Ungrateful.

She stared at him. „You'd rather I had stayed back home so he could have killed _you_ last night?" She didn't try to conceal her anger at his attitude. „It's not like I'm made of sugar, Daryl. And you're not indestructible, as we've seen."

He blushed crimson, cradling his arm, and she instantly felt bad. From what Rick had said, the damage it had taken went beyond the scars she'd seen, and she hated making Daryl feel as if he'd failed somehow. „What do you think stitching you up felt like? Twice? What do you think it felt like to see you limping into my living room a few nights back, torn up, bleeding, admitting that you would have died without your wolf?"

Daryl found himself unable to answer. They had never come this close before to voicing their feelings for each other - their fear that the other might get hurt or killed, the pain of _seeing_ the other get hurt, being hurt, _hurting_ , injured, bleeding. He wasn't good with words, or with emotions, never had been. He bit his lip until he tasted blood, but there was no answer - none, at least, that would have satisfied either her or him. So he sat there in silence, chastised, his chest heaving, and feeling like a piece of shit over yelling at her for saving his life.

Then, suddenly, more words burst out of him, without him even knowing that he was going to open his mouth before he did. „It's just … I was so _close_ to getting him, and he was always going to be the last one, and I will be … I will have a _life_ now …" He faltered, amazed at himself for opening up like that. But he had to say this one last thing … „If you had died killing him … What would there be for me?"

They were both silent for a long time after this. Daryl closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the saddle of the bike, exhausted, to rest up for a few minutes before cleaning and lubricating his crossbow next.

„You're giving up Hunting?" she asked softly when he was no longer looking at her. She watched him intently, eager to observe his reaction, still unable to process his last sentence. Not daring to believe he had said that. Or, if he had said it, that he _meant_ it.

Daryl took so long to speak that she wasn't certain he would answer at all. When he did, his voice sounded hurt and amazed. „All I wanted was to take it out," Daryl whispered softly. „I was consumed by that wish ever since it had killed my mother. Once I'd left home, my whole life revolved around this one wish." He paused for a deep breath, wincing when his ribs stung, and then continued in that same soft voice.

„And now it's dead and nothing's changed." He looked up at the horizon, his face bathed in light, the scars and lines marring it thrown into stark relief. „I have my life back, and don't know what to do with it." For just a moment, he met her eyes - and blushed furiously, remembering what had escaped over his barriers earlier.

Carol's heart fluttered in her chest. „Well," she whispered, „the patch of land behind my house, and my work as a healer, could surely feed two people until you have decided what to do with your new life." She held her breath as she waited for his answer.

Daryl blushed crimson as he stared at her, trying to determine if she was making fun of him - but her eyes, her face, held only kindness and longing. He swallowed thickly. „That sounds … good," he whispered hoarsely, nodding. „I can do that."

Unable to speak, she leaned her head against his chest, and he tentatively slid his good arm around her, exhaling and closing his eyes as he leaned back against the bike once more.

.-.

By the time Rick emerged from the forest again, Daryl had been to the village to have the mayor there take care of the body and give him his payment for the kill, and once a group of men had come and gone, taking away Shane's body, they had packed up their stuff and gotten the bike ready for setting out again. Only the ripped up blanket was still spread out in the grass so they had something to sit on.

Rick's eyes were empty as he approached them, and he was walking listlessly, almost stumbling along. Daryl saw that his right hand was closed in a tight fist and assumed he was still holding the ampoule with the cure serum in it.

They waited for Rick to reach them, refraining from voicing their multitude of questions, giving him time and space to talk to them on his own terms and let them know his decision. Rick made his way all the way to the blanket, now in the forest's shadow, and all but collapsed on it, his shoulders slumping. For a long time he just sat there, his eyes on the ground, every line in his body transmitting defeat. Daryl felt Carol tensing up in sympathy, but still they both held back.

It had to be Rick talking to them first, not the two of them rushing him with their questions and answers when he had to be the one making a decision for himself and finding his own answer to the question in his hand. As he had no idea what he would have been doing right now if Carol hadn't offered him an option he had never dared hope for, Daryl could only begin to guess at the darkness inside Rick right now, realizing that his wife would have had a chance at life again if only he had been there instead of shying away and leaving Daryl to confront her alone.

The sun's lower edge touched the horizon by the time Rick finally looked up, and Daryl saw the answer in his eyes. He nodded at his friend, encouraging him to speak.

Opening his fist, Rick held out his hand, revealing the ampoule with its precious amber content. „This is a very kind and generous offer," he began haltingly, „and I truly appreciate it. You're offering me a second chance, and I would vey much like to take it - but I can't."

Daryl closed his eyes, acknowledging his defeat - and it did feel like a very personal failure just then."Will you hold on to it, in case you change your mind?" he whispered, reluctant to give up this very last bit of hope.

„No, I won't - you might need it yourself some day, and you told me that you can't get any more," Rick whispered, grasping Daryl's hand and placing the ampoule in it. He gently folded Daryl's bruised fingers around it, the way Daryl had done it with him a few hours before. „I was a coward that day, and I don't deserve that which I couldn't give her back then," he continued softly. „You're generous to offer this to me, and I am grateful for the offer, but this is not mine. Keep it until you might need it for someone else. Keep it safe."

Looking up only for the second time since he'd left, he met their eyes, and Daryl's heart ached for him. He had never seen such agony in the eyes of any creature, and he had looked men in the eyes as they lay dying. „I will. Take good care of yourself - and if you change your mind, you know where to find me." Tentatively, „Us." Even Daryl himself thought his voice sounded reedy, but he couldn't help it. They had been through so much, and now that they had reached their goal, it had all been for nothing for his friend.

„Be happy," Rick whispered, his eyes burning. „You deserve it. Cherish every day. And be safe." He rose to his feet, and Carol and Daryl followed suit. Stepping up to Carol, Rick embraced her carefully, tentatively, as if afraid to break her. She did look fragile and tiny in his arms, and for just an instant Daryl wondered how she would look in his. „Look after him, please - he doesn't do it himself." Carol nodded against Rick's chest, too choked up to speak.

Letting go of her, Rick turned to face Daryl. They had known each other so long, and so intimately, that no words were necessary. They embraced each other, each man mindful of the other's injuries, and then stepped apart again. With the street end of the meadow drenched in golden light, Rick looked toward the sun out of habit, checking its descent, and saw that it was time.

Nodding at Carol and Daryl one last time, he turned away and walked into the forest, making certain that he would be out of sight.

The last needles of light danced through the air - and the sun was gone.

Carol took Daryl's hand and squeezed it gently.

A wolf howled.


End file.
